


Lost and Found

by Barcardivodka



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected meeting gives Joe hope for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Series 4 episodes 5 and 6
> 
> With grateful thanks to Somniare.
> 
> Any mistakes, errors or plot holes are mine and mine alone, so please do not steal them ;)

_“Don’t put them all in the same van”_

Joe’s mother had spent thousands of pounds and decades of her life trying to find the answer to just one question: why had Joe’s father taken his own life? She had sought out every medium, every psychic she could find, handing over whatever fee they charged, only to be disappointed time after time as all of them proved to be nothing more than charlatans.

Her mind had slowly unravelled over the years as her desperation to know why her husband, who had given no indication of his inner turmoil, had left ten year old Joe doing his homework at the kitchen table while he went upstairs and, leaving the bathroom door unlocked, killed himself.

His father’s death had shattered the entire family. Joe’s mother now spent her days staring blankly at the world around her, lost in her own mind, while Joe’s life had become plagued with obsession, everything ordered, clean and tidy, over and over again.

Those eight words haunted him; they had nearly destroyed him, so, like that fateful day so many years ago, it was why he was sat on a bench seat in Hyde Park on a chilly November day, sipping from a small bottle of vodka. It was the same brand of vodka he had been drinking for weeks, keeping just on the functional side of drunk and keeping the worse of his OCD symptoms at bay.

 

_“Don’t put them all in the same van”_

He’d walked from the Whitechapel station, needing to get away from the streets and alleyways that had spawned the world’s first known serial killer and still harboured the evil that corrupted man to commit foul deeds.

The idea that his father was watching him terrified Joe. Had he seen every error in Joe’s life? Had he witnessed Joe wash his hands over and over again until they bled because he couldn’t control the compulsion, or the caning he’d taken at school, set-up by bullies. The list was endless. Had his father watched Joe’s mother descend into her own compulsion, leaving young Joe to not only attempt to excel at school, but clean and cook at home as well, while she attended another séance.

Had his father been unable to contact them before? Had all the psychics his mother visited been frauds? Or was it only now that his father had made the effort? But why? Why now? Surely, he must have known Joe would be sceptical. Joe covered his face with his hands and leant forward, his elbows on his knees. He had no answers, and he was too afraid to find them.

He’d been cleared of any wrong doing in the deaths of the Abrahamic cult. He and his team’s investigation had in fact been praised. Joe had often wondered if the outcome would have been the same if it hadn’t been only the cult members who had died in the explosion. The police officers in the back of the van had inexplicably been thrown clear, and the drivers of both vans had miraculously escaped before the fireball had reached them. It defied all logic, but no-one except he or Miles seemed to find it odd.

Joe’s life had narrowed to the painful hindsight of ‘what if’. If only he had listened to Miles and pursued Louise Iver, like the older man had wanted. If only he’d opened the note from his father sooner, just to prove to Miles that Jacqui Brierley had indeed been yet another fraud. But even though he was confident at the time that the note held nothing more than an ambiguous message, a part of him, buried deep, had feared that his father had answered his mother’s question, that the guilt Joe had harboured since childhood had been revealed, that ten year old Joe had done something so bad he had been the reason for his father taking his own life.

Joe slammed a fist into this thigh in frustration, once, twice, three times. His fears and shortcomings had resulted in the failure of not bringing the cult to trial. He had failed the families of the victims, and failed his team.

“Charlie!”

Joe jerked upright at the yell, looking around to see where it had come from. He stared in startled bewilderment at Miles who was sat at the other end of the bench, stroking a black and white collie dog.

How long had Miles been sat beside him? How had he known Joe was here?

Joe slipped the small bottle of vodka into his overcoat pocket with an embarrassed flush. The dog trotted over to Joe and stood in front of him, its tail wagging happily. Joe looked at Miles, who just smiled at him and nodded towards the dog.

The dog wagged its tail faster when Joe looked at it. A tennis ball was clenched firmly in its mouth. Joe looked again at Miles, who just nodded again at the dog. Joe stripped off his right glove and slowly stroked it across the dog’s head.

“Charlie!”

Joe looked up to see a young black man jogging towards them. Joe frowned and looked down at the dog.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the young man panted out as he reached the bench seat. “He doesn’t usually let me out of his sight, I… oh my god, Inspector Chandler, Sergeant Miles. I’m Nick Hempstead; you saved me from that, that ….”

“You’re looking well, Mr Hempstead,” Miles interceded as Nick struggled to describe the ergot poisoned John Washington. Miles held his hand out and Nick shook it warmly. Joe offered his hand automatically which was enthusiastically shaken by Nick.

“I’m very well, thank you, Sergeant Miles. Still seeing the counsellor, you know, but, well, these things take time, don’t they?” Nick replied.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t bring him to court,” Joe said. Shame at having failed the young man reddened his pale cheeks. “To make him face justice for you and the other victims.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Nick said incredulously. “I know this doesn’t sound very civilised, but I’m glad he’s dead. I don’t think I could cope knowing he was still alive. That he might get out or be sentenced to a mental institution. I would have never felt safe. I know you guys like to dot the I’s and cross the T’s. But you caught him in the act, you saved my life. There was no doubt he was guilty, there was nothing to prove in a court. If you hadn’t have stopped him, there could have been more. And I read how the others died; the man was a nutter.”

“You would have been his last victim, regardless,” Joe replied. “He only had hours to live.”

“Plenty of time to grab someone else,” Nick countered. “Amazing how far you can push yourself when you’re motivated, even when you’re consumed by madness.”

As a police officer, and particularly as an Inspector leading a major investigation team, Joe was judged on arrests and convictions. Although he had in practice solved all of his cases, he didn’t have one solitary conviction on his record. He was on paper and in his own mind a failure. But Joe felt something give within himself as he listened to Nick. In his mind he listed all the people he and his team had saved. They had stopped killers in their tracks and ensured no others fell prey to their murderous madness.

“Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a class in half an hour,” Nick seemed torn about having to leave, but shook their hands again. “Thank you. I’ll never forget what you did, never. Thank you so much for saving my life. Come on, Charlie.”

With a muffled woof Charlie turned and trotted after Nick, bouncing along by the man’s side as they made their way back through the park.

Joe and Miles sat quietly for a moment, watching as Nick walked away.

“Answer your bloody phone next time,” Miles grumbled, breaking the silence. “You had me worried.”

Joe pulled his phone from the inside of his overcoat, astonished to find twelve missed calls.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well. At least you didn’t switch it off,” Miles stated as he stood up.

“Miles?” Joe stood up from the bench seat and faced Miles, “I’m sorry, for the last few weeks, I…”

“I know, Joe “Miles said, patting Joe’s upper arm. “Truly, I do.”

Joe felt ridiculously close to tears as they walked towards the nearest park gates. He was uncertain how he had inspired such loyalty in Miles, but was thankful of it.

“I’m not walking all the way back,” Miles suddenly said. “So it’s either the tube or you can pay for a taxi.”

“How did you get here?” Joe asked as he slipped the vodka bottle from his pocket and placed it in the rubbish bin by the gate; he wouldn’t be needing its numbing effects anymore. Miles noticed the action but made no comment; he just gave Joe’s arm a quick squeeze. Joe nodded back gratefully.

“Got one of the traffic lot to drop me off,” Miles replied.

“You really shouldn’t use the GPS phone tracking system to find wayward Inspectors, you know?” Joe smiled, as they walked toward the taxi rank on Edgware Road.

“Should tell me where you’re going then,” Miles stated.

“Yes, mother.”


End file.
